The draft for book eight in the magical series...
Chapter three
No one noticed him. He sat in the back row of classes. He sat, as he did now, at an empty table in the dining hall, his back to all others, picking at his toad gruel with raven infused sausages, contemplating how much he hated pumpkin juice and craved a cold mudgle, chocolate Yoo-Hoo.
What perhaps helped him stay out of the sight and minds of others was merely being part of the Raventoe house. No Raventoe had ever made anything out of themselves. They were the C-D+ students at Hogguts. Head Wizard's Room attendant was about as high a position any Raventoe could dream of. They were the "short boat" kids of the school. His uncle at least had his own wizard rock band but with songs limited to such hits as "Troll, troll, troll, ya gotta rock and roll, roll, roll," "Sometimes I know why the hypogriff cries," "He's a wanker little elf who plays with himself" and the always snappy, "He who can not be named, all the hot witches want your love to be tamed," he could never hope to break the magical barrier and play in the mudgle world. Between his job of loading luggage at the wizarding airport and playing for tips at the Leaky Cauldron every second Saturday, the huge and successful gig at the Malfoy barmitzvah and the Tri-Wizard Ball, he managed to squeak by and still pay for Dish TV so he wouldn't go insane with the boring shows on Wizard Cable.
Perry Hotter And The Reclusive Raventoe
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